


Stranger Things

by melonbutterfly



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-15
Updated: 2009-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-12 23:44:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbutterfly/pseuds/melonbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For publicity, Chris has to break up with Zach and pretend to have a girlfriend, but it doesn't take him long to realise what huge mistake he's making.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranger Things

**Author's Note:**

> For this (http://community.livejournal.com/trek_rpf_kink/1765.html?thread=2031333#t2031333) prompt from the trek_rpf_kink meme.
> 
> The title comes from the same-titled song by the Foo Fighters.

Chris had been so angry, he had felt like smashing something—like hurting someone. Only the knowledge that it wouldn't help his case one bit had prevented him from doing so, but he was _so fucking tired_ of people trying to tell him what he should do, how he should be if he wanted to continue to walk the path he had gotten the opportunity to take—the path of a successful actor. But ever since he had had to break up with Zach because of that—or rather, since Chris' agent had called Zach without his knowledge and talked him into the belief that a relationship with Chris would damage both their careers irreparably, which had caused Zach to break up with him—he had felt so aggressive, so helpless and defeated, had been so easily to wind up.

He was well aware that they only wanted his best, but sometimes he almost believed they did this because they could—played with his life because he allowed them to. That wasn't true, of course, but- not being allowed to be with the person he chose, with _Zach_ , had hurt him in many ways, still hurt him. They were still something like best friends, but there was now a wall between them, and he felt like he had not only lost his boyfriend, but also the only person in his life he could talk to about everything, anything, where he could be just himself.

This, he saw that now, was only the logical next step, and had he spent some thought about what'd most likely happen next, he would have expected it. That his agent had called his parents and literally introduced Chris' girlfriend to them without Chris even being aware of the fact that he _had_ a relationship, not to mention even knew the girl to begin with, hadn't been so surprising. Neither had been the fact that his parents had been happy with the girl; for some reason they had always been rather cool with Zach. Even Kate, his sister, had thought it was a good idea, and in what had felt like one giant, collaborated talking-to that just had happened at different times, they had talked Chris into agreeing.

It was the day something in him died, and ever since he had sometimes heard a nagging voice in the back of his mind debating whether he had chosen the right metier for himself if he could only succeed when he was not himself. He ignored it most of the time, but on his bad days (and he had more of those these times than good days) he knew it had a point.

But he had never been one to back out on something once he had agreed to do it; only the weak, indecisive did and those weren't winners, his grandfather had told him when he had been seven, and he had taken the lesson to heart.

So he had agreed to play couple with the girl, go out to the theatre, be seen holding hands, kissing, that kind of thing—but only if he met her first, in private.

She was nice. Nice-looking, but not overly pretty; she had stunning eyes, dark, curly hair. Actress too, vaguely famous because she had a role in some TV-show that was successful enough. She was calm when they met, shook his hand and didn't flutter nervously like some people did because he was famous. The first thing she said to him was, "This is so old-fashioned, I can't believe I'm actually doing this."

Chris liked her, because she hadn't automatically assumed 'we'. 'We are actually doing this'. They were, but he didn't love her, she didn't love him; it was a calculated move arranged by their publicists and agents and parents, a cool-blooded contract, nothing more. There was no 'we'.

But they got along. She was intelligent, and they had a couple of things in common; when she spent the night at his house or he spent the night at her apartment, they either read or watched TV; the history channel or animal planet, mostly. They didn't talk much unless they could be seen.

When they talked, it was about trivial things mostly; movies, TV-shows, books, music, theatre. Sometimes they talked about plans for the future they had career-wise, but they rarely talked about themselves. They were good actors; they managed to make conversations about fast food look intense and intimate. The paps followed them around wherever they went, they were hailed Hollywood's newest super couple; they even got a nickname, Pillow. Which was ridiculous, but better than TomKat or Brangelina. Chris liked that they had chosen their last names to compile a couple name, not their first names like for the others. Because the others at least were (as far as he knew) real couples, unlike them.

She didn't introduce him to her friends, he didn't introduce her to his. They met each other's parents—their agents had wanted his mother to be seen with her, and him to be seen with her father—and Chris hated the way his parents immediately took to her.

All considered, it was alright. When they kissed it felt like he was kissing a random girl—which he was.

They gave interviews together, went to parties, made sure they'd be seen having 'intimate' dinners at restaurants. They never kissed when they were alone.

They never had sex.

Once, a rather daring reporter asked them how the sex was, and she laughed and put her hand on Chris' arm, leaned into him and looked up to him with twinkling eyes. He grinned and winked at her, then told the reporter that 'a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell'.

That was when their agents decided that it was time to announce their engagement. The first thing Chris wanted to do when he was told was call Zach, and it was the first time they talked about her. Naturally Zach had known about her—it was a topic rather hard to avoid—but he had never said anything to Chris. He had seen one interview in which the interviewer had asked Zach what he thought about her, and Zach had said that she seemed like a nice, lovely girl, but didn't know her that well. Stunned, the interviewer had inquired further, referring to the fact that he and Chris were best friends, shouldn't he know her rather well? Zach had laughed and said that they were good friends, but that didn't mean they had to get each other's agreement to whom they dated—he liked her, but he didn't feel it necessary to become great friends with her just because she was dating Chris.

So they were good friends now. After he had seen that, Chris had gotten totally smashed, even though he had known she was going to come over later—when she did, he had been busy weeping into his pillow, and she had hugged him and told him about how she had been raped as a child and ever since couldn't bear the thought of intimate relationships, that her agent didn't know and had been getting desperate to arrange something for her because a girl that had never had a boyfriend was creepy in the eyes of most people, and sooner or later she wouldn't get any roles anymore because it'd negatively affect the opinions of the average American citizen. Morbidly, he had felt better.

She hadn't asked what was wrong.

It had been the first time they had willingly touched each other with the knowledge that nobody was there to witness it. It had been the first intimate conversation they had had.

When Chris called Zach to tell him about his engagement three weeks later, it was the first time they talked since Chris had seen Zach's interview.

"We're going to marry," he said after they had gotten the small talk out of the way.

Zach didn't even pause. "Really? That's great! I'm happy for you, man. So this is serious, is it?" He sounded cheerful, honest, enthusiastic, like a friend would if a friend told them they were going to marry.

"It must be, if we're marrying," Chris replied and managed to keep his voice calm and smooth, normal.

They talked some more, Zach asked for details—when, where, how big, have a best man yet?—and Chris dutifully provided those that he knew. He didn't know who he wanted as his best man, but when he said that Zach laughed like he had told a joke and then said, "Stop playing around, you want me, right? Of course I'm going to do it!"

After they ended the conversation, Chris sat kneeling on his bed for a long time, arms wrapped around himself, staring at his mobile phone, eyes dry. When he woke up the next morning, he couldn't remember what he had dreamed about except for one thing: Zach's voice, echoing, saying "You want me, right?" again and again.

He didn't have the strength anymore not to cry.

Later that day, she came over, ringing the door and then opening it with the key he had given her. Neither of them had felt that comfortable with the idea of giving each other keys to the other's home, but their agents had insisted; especially Chris' door was clearly visible from the street, meaning the paps had a perfect view on who rang the door and who didn't. It would seem strange for them to ring the doors when they were supposed to be a couple, Chris' agent had said. Chris had obeyed because it was what he did these days, and because at this point, it didn't matter anymore. Zach had given him his key back the day he had broken up with him, and while Chris had the key to Zach's home still, he never used it. It felt like the reverse-situation of their hearts; Zach had taken his back, but Chris had been incapable, unwilling to get his own back from him. It was still at Zach's, and neither of them used it anymore.

She found him in the living room, staring at the TV where CNN was running, sound turned off. She took one look at him, sat at the other end of the sofa and said, "I don't want it to be public."

Chris looked up, confused. "What?" They had been all about public before—hell, _they_ were public.

"No." She shook her head as if he had protested. "Our agents want to turn it into a spectacle, but I don't want that. I thought about it, and this is what we're going to do: we'll elope. They can make it sound all romantic and kitschy, about how we just couldn't wait or some crap like that. We'll go somewhere else and marry without anybody watching. This is a lie, and there is no need to make it even more false."

She had never talked about it like that—they both hadn't. No doubt they each had thought it every now and then, but they had never brought it up in conversation. Until now.

Chris licked his upper lip and said, "Okay."

Satisfied, she leant back into the armrest of the sofa and looked at him imploringly. "You look like you need coffee."

He did, and suddenly Chris had enough of being listless and depressed. Standing, he said "let me get dressed," quickly put on some jeans and a t-shirt from that part of his cupboard of clothes that his agent had agreed he may wear in public. When he came back, he found her standing in the hall in front of the mirror, arranging her hair. "You are aware that machine you have in your kitchen is capable of making coffee, yes?", she said. "I didn't mean we should go out."

"But I do," Chris replied, got his wallet and keys and reached for her hand. Whenever she came over, even if there hadn't previously, there'd be paparazzi waiting in front of his house when she (or they) left again. Pillow-pictures sold magazines.

So they went and bought coffee, acted like a recently-engaged couple should (though it wasn't out yet, but it'd spout some rumours and that'd make their agents happy) and Chris bought the first magazine with pictures of Zach in it he could find. It wasn't too difficult, for Zach was rather famous too and it looked like he had done something absolutely fascinating—he had bought fresh fruits on a market. Of course the whole world needed to know about this.

When they were back on his couch in the living room, he gave her the magazine with the page with Zach's photo open and said, as if she wouldn't know who he was talking about, "That guy. He's the love of my life."

She looked at the photo, looked at him and back at the photo. Then she settled her gaze on him again and said, "He looks nice."

Chris nodded. "He is."

Tilting her head, she took a breath, hesitated for a second, then said "Do you want to tell me about him? I want to ask, but it seems a little cruel, given our situation."

"No. Ask. I want to talk about him, I'm going crazy not being able to. That's why I told you." Chris looked away for a moment. "I can't talk to anybody else."

"Okay. How come this," she waved her hand between both of them, apparently referring to their situation, "happened?"

"He broke up with me because my agent told him it'd ruin both or careers. He's always been a little anal about going public, but it was bound to get out sooner or later, so he broke up with me. A couple of weeks later my agent told me if I didn't start seeing girls it was going to end bad, with me being almost thirty and still unattached, blah blah, and introduced you." He shrugged. "What did your agent tell you?"

"She said that she had arranged a relationship for me that was only for the public. She said she didn't care what we do or don't do in private, as long as it looks like we're a couple in public—and she said that if I don't do this, I'm going to completely ruin my career; I hadn't been getting any offers for a while already, people were talking about me behind my back, especially when a girl I had gone to school with told everyone how I never had a boyfriend. I wouldn't have agreed, had she not mentioned your name. I researched you before I did."

He nodded, thoughtful. "Because you had to be careful the guy wouldn't want a real relationship with you."

"Exactly. And it might have been naïve and romantic, but I came to the conclusion that a guy who has majored in English can't be a potential rapist. You didn't seem like an inconsiderate person in the interviews. I mean, I'm aware that the means I had to check you out weren't too reliable, but it was alright. I figured that if you were a playboy or even just somebody who wants a girl, you wouldn't need your agent to arrange something like this for you."

"Yeah," Chris said and looked away.

She took another breath. "So… you still love him. Does he know?"

"Maybe," Chris shrugged carelessly. "Possibly. I never took it back. Do people take it back officially? I don't know. It makes me… it makes me angry that he honestly believed he was doing me a favour. That he could do it so easily, with so little reason. And it makes me think that what we had, what we were, maybe didn't mean as much to him as it did to me."

"He failed if you honestly doubt your relationship." Her voice was matter-of-factly, a little cool, but non-judging.

"Maybe. But maybe it was I who failed in correctly reading his signals in the first place. Maybe I only saw what I wanted to see. I loved him so much- I figured that since we were best friends, he had to love me in some way too, so I just asked him. He said yes. He seemed happy, very- happy. But now I wonder."

"What did he say- to this?" Lowering her gaze to the magazine, she stared at the photo of Zach as if trying to picture him in real life, but Chris knew that no photo could ever capture everything there was about him—good photographers could catch parts, but never everything.

He licked his lips. "I told him yesterday. He sounded genuinely happy."

She looked up at him, quickly. "Are you sure?"

Helpless, Chris shrugged. "No. Yes. I don't know. He's a good actor, and over the phone it's a little hard to tell, he didn't notice I- and I'm not sure I really knew him as well as I thought."

"But you were best friends. Even without a relationship, you should have been able to tell-" She hesitated. "Should we talk about something else? This is hurting you."

"No. It does, but it's better than not talking about him, pretending he never meant as much to me as he did, acting like we never happened."

For a moment, she was silent, staring down at the photo. When she looked up, there was a determined expression on her face. "Chris. I don't love you. I'm not even vaguely attracted to you—I have never been attracted to anyone. Maybe one day I will, my therapist says it is a possibility, but not within the next three years, minimum. I'm more or less comfortable with you, but I can't even bear the thought of sleeping in the same bed with you—with anyone, for that matter. Now think about it—do you really want that? Is that enough for you? If you in ten years think back to this moment, what do you think you'll say?"

Chris was silent for a long time, considering the question. He thought about how happy he had been with Zach and that even now, he didn't regret one second he had spent with him, wouldn't take back anything he had said to him—and he thought about the situation with her, how wrong and trapped he had felt all along, basically ever since Zach had broken up with him; how betrayed. How he sometimes cowardly wished it'd all just go away, what it'd be like if he lived in a different world where he and Zach, their relationship, would never be considered wrong by anybody because they truly loved each other—how he wished he had superpowers, wanted to make his world like that. He thought about his parents and sister, about his agent, about his friends, what all those people would say.

But in the end, he knew he didn't really need to think about the question because he knew the answer already.

He took a breath and said, "I don't remember where I read it, I don't remember who wrote it or even just the situation the they were in, but there's this quote that somehow stuck in my head: 'I'd rather be yours without you than be no one's with her.'"

She nodded and rose. "I'll tell our agents." For a moment she hesitated, then she leaned in to him and kissed him on the cheek. "It was nice knowing you, Chris. Maybe we'll hear from each other sometime again. I'll leave my key on the table and take mine back, alright?"

He nodded.

Less than one hour later he had figured out what he wanted to say to Zach and drove over to his house without calling first to check if he was there—he knew if he did that he'd get discouraged, hopeless, just generally talk himself out of it, and even if that might be a better thing for their relationship, he knew he needed to do this, for himself at least if for nobody else.

But he was lucky; Zach was there. He appeared puzzled and not exactly pleasantly surprised, but it didn't seem like Chris' visit was totally inconvenient either.

Not that he gave the impression he was just here for a visit.

"Did something happen?", Zach asked after he had let Chris in. They had settled in the kitchen, both nursing a cup of coffee and not exactly not looking at each other.

Slightly thrown off-guard by the useful opening, Chris floundered for a second before he caught himself again. "Uhm, to be honest, yes. Something happened. Exactly nine weeks and three days ago, to be concrete."

In the way Zach's movements suddenly became very slow, controlled, Chris saw that he knew exactly what he was talking about, but he stayed quiet, waiting.

"You broke up with me because my agent told you to, because she said it'd be better for both our careers. Because of our careers, you threw us away." He couldn't help the way his voice hardened; it was, in a way, a fresh wound still, and he wasn't sure it would ever heal completely.

"Chris-"

"No!" He leant forward, and suddenly all the anger he had felt ever since that moment seven weeks ago welled up. "You chose money over love, Zach, maybe even over happiness, though I don't know if that's as true for you as it is for me. Sure, my agent talked you into it and I know how you can be when you think you're doing something for someone else's good, but you could have called me—you could have explained. Instead you just told me it's over and expected me to get over it and happily move on within two weeks—hell, everyone did, but it's worse that you did too because you knew, you _knew_ how much you meant to me!"

"You think it was easy for me?", Zach replied, now angry as well. "Well thank you very much! No, Chris, for your information, it was not, but you'll forgive me if to be happy I need more than just love—I need a purpose, a profession, and I thought we'd both be better off with still a job and each other, but at the level of friends! It's not like _you_ said anything, you just took your key and left!"

"It's so nice that you made that decision for me! Fuck, Zach, this wasn't just your decision to make, it was about both of us, and I think a conversation should have been a given before you chose! But instead you tell me that hey, it was nice but let's better be friends from now on and then you just watch while I'm so down I let myself be talked into a relationship with a girl I don't care about, don't even know because I think if this is so important for Zach there must be something to it, right? And it takes that girl's talking to so I can see clear again—not yours, Zach, because over the last weeks she was the only one who was actually there with me, and if you take into account the nature of our relationship that's a sad thing, considering we two were supposed to be best friends again. Fuck, you even had the gall to congratulate me when I told you of our arranged engagement!"

"Wait, wait wait wait!" Zach had paled during Chris short speech and now ran a hand through his hair, visibly agitated. "Are you serious? You were with her because others talked you into it?"

"What?" Chris blinked in disbelief before anger came through again. "Are _you_ serious? Did you honestly believe I got to know a girl and fell in love with her within three weeks after you broke up with me?!"

"Fuck, _yes_ , I did! It's not like you tell me about everyone you get to know and you are a passionate person, and- I thought you genuinely loved her, for god's sake, Chris, you were going to marry her!"

"Love? That's not love in my eyes when I look at her! I thought you'd know me better than that! Look me in the eye right now and you'll see love."

Zach looked at Chris for a moment who stared back, conflicted because whoa, it felt _good_ to fight with Zach again—to do _something_ with Zach, anything—but also hurt and so angry. Then he suddenly slumped in his chair and rubbed his face with both hands. "Fuck, Chris, I'm so sorry, I didn't want this—I didn't want this to happen, I never wanted to break up with you. But your agent, you know her, she can talk an Eskimo into buying a fridge—she talked about you so much, how much you love your job and what it's going to do to you when something about our relationship gets out, that you'll stay with me because you love me but that in the end it'd only bring you grief, and in the end she had me far enough I- you know what I did. And I wanted you back, I wanted to call you, I knew you'd hate me, but you didn't say anything and I was so ashamed so I didn't, and I made myself busy with work and before I knew it, three weeks had passed and you had a girlfriend. I didn't think you had forgotten me so easy, but I thought that you'd been angry with me and she was there and so you just went along with it. I know I should have talked to you, but somehow I just… I don't know."

"God." Chris pulled his legs up, wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his face in them. "I didn't know what to say. You didn't sound sure, but not like it was a decision on a whim either, and I couldn't just- I was so angry, and I missed you so much but I was too proud and- god, Zach."

For a long while, they were both silent; the seconds trickled by while Chris was thinking about all that had been said, trying to figure out if it in any way changed what he wanted. Still.

But he knew the answer already.

And then Zach, a little tentative but not timid, spoke up. "Chris, can I- I really want to-" He paused, and Chris lowered his folded arms and glanced over at him. "It's 'may I', not 'can I', you idiot."

Zach licked his lips, looking at him intently, then suddenly stood and walked over to him. Chris put his legs down and watched, and when Zach stood right before him, softly touched his cheek, he let out a sigh and closed his eyes, just feeling. Zach's hands were warm, they always were, and they were cupping his face, and it didn't feel at all like all the tension was leaving him—quite the opposite, his nerves were suddenly thrumming with it, he felt hot, energised, _alive_ \- before he knew it, he was standing, eye to eye with Zach, and-

He took a breath, licked his lips, and Zach's eyes flickering down was his downfall.

He surged forwards, and it was not only him; Zach's hands were pulling him, pulling him closer still even when their lips met and it wasn't possible anymore, but Zach pulled and pulled and they kissed and kissed, and it was not at all like coming home; it was like diving into a sea of lava, burning, surging, and it only stopped when Zach stumbled into the kitchen counter non-too-gently.

Zach was saying something, but Chris was unwilling to pull away from him for long enough to listen. And anyways, the words tasted a lot better than they might have sounded; Zach's tongue was agile and enthusiastic just as Chris' was wild and demanding; it was less a fight than it was a dance, well-practiced and all the better for it. And before they knew it, they fell back into old patterns; Chris hands slid under his shirt, up his naked back and around to his chest while Zach's hands slipped underneath Chris' shirt, opened his belt and wriggled their way over his hips into his pants so he could squeeze his ass. Chris groaned and thrust forwards; he felt the bulge in Zach's pants rub into his hipbone and groaned again. Zach's skin still felt like Zach's skin, his mouth still tasted like Zach's mouth—with an aftertaste of bitter coffee—and their sound still sounded like _them_ in his ears, and _that_ was like coming home more than anything else could ever be.

They pulled apart to take a breath when they absolutely couldn't hold it back anymore, and Zach's hands slid back to Chris' face, cupping it again. Panting, they stood foreheads leant against the other, hips twitching into each other, until Chris opened his eyes, meeting Zach's who looked like he had been staring at him the whole time, and whispered hoarsely, "Zach."

Zach groaned and pushed forwards again, thrusting his tongue into Chris' mouth while at the same time his hands slid down to pull at his pants, opening them, and then suddenly he was gone, sunken to his knees, sliding both pants and underwear down Chris' legs.

Wrapping his fingers around Chris cock, he looked up, met Chris' eyes then leant forwards to swallow him down.

Chris loud moan echoed in the kitchen, but he wasn't ashamed; Zach was unbelievably good at this, swirling his tongue and sucking at the same time, it was almost sensory overload especially since it had been almost three months since Chris had had anything that was closer to sex than masturbation. Scrabbling for something to hold on to, he grabbed the kitchen counter and moaned again, knowing Zach loved to hear him, then almost yelled because suddenly Zach took him in even deeper while at the same time one of his fingers pressed into that spot behind his balls. Chris' hips thrust forwards on their own accord, but Zach didn't complain; quite the opposite, he hummed around Chris' hard flesh and rubbed the flat of his tongue against the tip. After that, Chris lost coherency a little; he only knew he was leaning hard on his shaky arms on the kitchen counter, heard the sounds he was making, saw Zach's dark head bob back and forth on his cock. He was vaguely aware that his tongue tried to form Zach's name again and again, but he stumbled over it sometimes; it just felt too good. He didn't last long at all; before he knew it, orgasm was coursing hotly through his veins and he felt himself come into Zach's mouth, who swallowed it all.

Gasping, he tried to come back to the world when he heard something that brought him back immediately; Zach groaned. Looking down, his eyes met Zach's who was staring up at him, an intense look on his face, one hand in his pants, cock half out, masturbating. "Chris," he begged, voice rough, and Chris slid down, knelt before him, leant into him and pushed his hand away, taking over.

"Zach," he whispered hoarsely, knowing Zach could hear his orgasm still, "in half an hour, when we can get it up again, I'll fuck you so hard on this table you'd be scared I'd break it, if you weren't so busy trying not to fall apart."

Zach's eyes rolled up and he came with a loud groan that was somewhere between Chris' name and incoherency.

A couple of minutes later, when both their breaths had more or less calmed down, Zach shifted a little and Chris suddenly became aware that his hand was still loosely wrapped around his cock, wet with cooling cum. He pondered pulling away to get a towel or something, but didn't quite feel like it yet.

"Chris," Zach murmured. He had to clear his throat a couple of times before his voice worked properly. "I gave you your key back because it was the only thing I was able to give back to you."

"Hm-m," Chris mumbled back. "I didn't give you yours back because I thought it was the only thing of yours I still had."

Zach shook his head. "You had me all along."


End file.
